I grew up in NY. Downstate NY...the "old country". Originally the Bronx, and then most of young life in Westchester County, just a 25 minute train ride from the Big Ol' (then kinda stinky-raw-but-way-awesome, but now quite shiny-and-still-has-some-awesomeness-once-you-leave-Times-Square) Apple. There's people from everywhere all crammed in, going about their lives, all the same, all very different, all moving in one general direction, forward in time. Yes, there's neighborhoods of folks of one background or another, and there's plenty of stereotyping, and old-school hangers on of perpetuating those stereotypes, quietly, subtly - often inadvertently, however, the melange of culture is so rich that often, unless one leaves that area, they have no idea that their traditions, or hobbies, or vernacular come from places far beyond where anyone in their blood line has ever tread.
Being Jewish in that area was nothing outstanding, nothing unique, and certainly nothing that would get you grilled on. Synagogues abound, bar mitzvahs de rigeur, and everyone gets a day off on the Jewish holidays. Outside of Israel, NYC has the highest concentration of Jews than anywhere else, and I presume, that in the past few decades that includes its suburbs as they continue to grow, stretching a "reasonable" commute to over 2 hours on a train - ONE way, and you're okay with that craziness. And remember, this same city that has had seven of the last 11 mayors since 1965 be tribe
members, also boasts the biggest freaking Christmas tree ever, and Santa
comes barreling down 5th Avenue as the finale to the Thanksgiving Day
Parade. So you can see, in NY - there's a lot of blend going on. But I digress.
Lots of friends were Jewish, and many were not. Of my Jewish friends growing up, however, I was the "ish" and they, indeed, were the "Jews". Their parents schlepped them to services on the weekends, they all went to Hebrew School, and only a few had anything up around the house during December other than menorahs, and even then they were referred to as Chanukah Bushes. I, on the other hand, being raised in a somewhat interfaith household (though technically it was a Jewish one, as my mother converted before my parents marriage), we waited for Santa (although our Chanukah Bush/Christmas Tree did have Stars of David on it)...right after the menorah was put away, and the Passover matzoh was stashed in an Easter basket. My parents gave me a choice of a bat mitzvah or a sweet sixteen when I was about 11. I had my sights set on a car, so I went with door number 2 (which didn't quite turn out the way I wanted, but that's another story).
Obviously, when it came to Judaism, I was the least likely candidate to be your go-to-gal.
We did attend synagogue on the High Holy Days...we'd enter the cavernous sanctuary, anonymous and intimidated. We'd always be in the back since the front was for the regulars, and Rabbi Cohen, who reminded me of Frank Perdue, would drone on and on about something and then speak in Hebrew. We would stand and sit and stand again and listen to the overzealous cantor bluster and bellow on in melodies that were foreign to me in words I didn't understand. We went to the JCC - which then was the YM/YWHA, and I did a play for Purim, cast in my first leading role as Esther - but I had no idea, unlike everyone else in the cast, what the story was about, (which went over great with the other kids as you can imagine). We had large family gatherings filled with kugels and matzah balls, we would sit shiva and help relatives cover mirrors and put stones on grave markers, family weddings were conducted under chuppahs and glasses were stepped on (and mind you, words like chuppah and shiva were never italicized in local papers following style guides of demarcating foreign words). But I had no idea why we did any of things really. They were just part of the fabric of life. No one ever explained and I never really asked.
Then I moved away.
Growing up with the last name of Goldman in NY was far from uncommon. It's like Smith or Johnson, Romano or DeLuca, Rodriguez or Ramirez. But once I left it became a stamp of identity, a marker of supposition, and apparently a flag that said, "You've never met a Jew? Well, here I am and ask me anything because I, apparently, have all the answers!"
"What do you eat?" "Can you eat this?" "What's the deal with Saturdays?" "Do you have horns that get removed in some kind of ceremony? (I know you think I'm joking about that one...but, sadly, I am not)". "Can Jews get married outside?" "Seriously, how do you live without bacon?"
The questions came fast and furious, shallow and deep, serious and utterly ridiculous (see above). I'd always be surprised at how little people knew about a culture and a religion, that for me, was no more special or outstanding than anything else. And even more surprised that people just assumed that I would have all the answers. Or even be willing to explain. For my own integrity's sake, I enrolled in a class in Judaism in my junior year of college just for catch up. The class didn't really engage me, the professor was just as dry as my Rabbi, and while I did pick up a few things here and there, all it did was really remind me how Jewish I wasn't.
In my childhood, no one ever asked me any questions about being Jewish. In my teens, the only questions I got were from my Jewish friends about why I didn't have a Bat Mitzvah or why we didn't go to temple regularly. People just didn't ask. I don't know why. I guess it was a combination of that they didn't really care and a lot of it they already knew, no matter their religious affiliation. Besides, all the attention got drawn to Tina Santos...the lone Jehovah's Witness at our school, who always had to sit in the Library during holiday parties and when cupcakes were handed out for birthdays. Come to think of it, I guess we did ask her a lot of questions for a little while until she finally said she had no more answers, it was just Jehovah's bidding. We never really understood what that meant, but we did know she had reached a breaking point when she ran out of the cafeteria in tears one day. So the questions stopped.
But the ones directed me have not. They still come, less and less frequently as generally the folks I'm around have settled into a less caustic approach at life as we have all aged together. Well, that and my married name doesn't have a mezuzah mounted on it anymore. My shock and awe have dulled over the course of 20 some odd years into a warm embrace, as I've come to anticipate them now, as part of my own Jewish journey. Ironically, they've actually allowed me to develop a stronger sense of Jewish identity than any of my prior years, and much to my own surprise, have ingrained in me a spirit of ambassadorship, as it were, a sense of obligation to represent the faith, the culture, the people in the most authentic way I can. As I've delved deeper into the nuts and bolts of Judaism I've come to realize that I was actually living my life much more Jewishly than I had thought. Things I did on a regular basis, thoughts I had, perspectives I've come to, all well in line with the current thinking of Reform Judaism.
As my son is working toward becoming a Bar Mitzvah in the next few months, and I become more and more involved at my synagogue, discovering and exploring my Jewish identity is becoming a pretty popular part of my life. And likely, I'll be expressing more and more about it, as I wrestle (in traditional Jewish style) with what all of it means, and how or if it will provide any kind of framework for my living.
When I sat down to write this, I actually had the intent of being somewhat snarky and flippant about it, as I've always found it pretty funny that somehow I'd become an "expert" on Judaism - based solely on being typically the only one in the room, both figuratively and often, literally. But as I've been processing, and my fingers have been banging away at the keyboard, an enlightenment has settled in of sorts. Keep those questions coming. They allow me learn, and they allow me to teach. I've often heard the best way to learn is by teaching...so have at it. I won't make up the answers, I promise.
L'Shanah Tovah Tikatevu and Shalom.
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